I took the Greenline Bus to Pokhara and was there for Holi, which was a bit more laid back than Kathmandu would have been. I like using the Greenline Bus Company for several reasons. First, it leaves an hour later than the cheaper Tourist buses, and second, it includes a buffet lunch in the ticket price. Lunch is always served at a very nice riverside hotel about half-way between Kathmandu and Pokhara. Being a buffet, it is easy to just select the vegetarian options.
This year, due to a scheduling conflict, I couldn’t get to Kathmandu in time for the big Losar party or the Shiva’s Slaves Run, but I did arrive during Losar and got some great shots of the Boudhanath Stupa with it’s new top and strung with colorful lights.
Zamskhang Palace Ruins
Tegar, Nubra Valley
Nubra Valley, also called the Valley of Flowers, is situated in the northeast corner of Ladakh, near the Tibetan border. At one time it was located on the southern Silk Road trade route between Yarkhand, in Xinjiang, and Leh, the capital of Ladakh. This obscure corner of the Himalayas is reached from the capital by traversing the Khardung La, at 5,602 meters it is referred to as the “highest motorable pass in the world”. A special permit must be obtained in Leh before the journey can even be attempted.
In early January 2017 I traveled to Koh Phayam again. It was still one of my favorite obscure islands in Thailand, and it hadn’t changed much in the intervening nine months. No cars allowed and I stayed at PP Land once more. It’s quite isolated, even by Koh Phayam standards, and I appreciated it even more after I had a chance to see the more populated beaches.
This was originally published on BootsnAll
Travel Journal #4
THE TRIPLEGEM AFGHAN EXPEDITION-SUMMER 2005
12/August/2005 – Kabul, Afghanistan
Friday – the Islamic day of rest – I had breakfast at the Mustafa, naan,
omelet, hash browns and coffee. Breakfast at the Mustafa was eaten in
an open, marble-paved courtyard on the second floor. This was where we’d
had the barbecue the night before. There I ran into another tourist. He
was an Aussie named Peter Forwood; bald on top, with short grey hair and
beard, tall and lean. He was 52, three years younger than me. He was
riding his Harley around the world, and he’d been doing so for over nine
years. Thus he was pretty notorious in the biker community. He’d just
driven down from Tajikistan, so we traded traveler’s tall tales. During
breakfast, Jacque, the Vietnamese fellow, I’d spent the evening talking
to with Stephan, the German, in Peshawar, stops by to use the Internet
Cafe at the Mustafa. The guys are all looking for a cheap hotel and
Peter tells him about the Park Hotel, near the river. While this is
going on John Mock stops by, and we arrange to meet for lunch. He’s busy
all morning with the Aga Khan foundation arranging for their trek of the